


I'll Remember You

by sixpetalpoppy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-03 00:32:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1063543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixpetalpoppy/pseuds/sixpetalpoppy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When she slept that night her mind teased her with outlandish visions of herself and a younger, fuller version of his face. In her dreams, they were happy; his face wasn't haunted with crippling grief, he was laughing and happy and passionate and sarcastic." Blackinnon, AU(ish), set during the third book. Also posted on FF.net Little bit of Jily thrown in for good measure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

To say she was shocked when she saw his gaunt, drained face leering from the television screen would be an understatement indeed. She was shocked, but she couldn’t have told you exactly why. It was a face she recognised, a face she knew but couldn’t quite place; the man’s haunted gaze resonated within her mind but she couldn’t really comprehend why. She had no recognition of him, no name to put to the (quite frankly scary) face; she just accepted it, and she grieved.

When she slept that night her mind teased her with outlandish visions of herself and a younger, fuller version of his face. In her dreams, they were happy; his face wasn’t haunted with crippling grief, he was laughing and happy and passionate and sarcastic. She sat at the kitchen table and smiled at the memory, no. Not the memory. The dream. It was a dream, she told herself. You don’t know that man, Marlene. He’s a murderer. He’s escaped from prison. He is dangerous.

This wasn’t the first time that Marlene’s mind had fashioned strange, outlandish dreams of magic and witchery, of war and a dangerous threat veiled by the foolish optimism of youth. Since she’d been found in the hospital twelve years ago they were a regular occurrence, she often dreamed of a time before her memory loss, dreamed that she’d had this magical, fictional life, full of friends and laughter and love. It was all a lie; a ruse that her cruel mind dredged up to torture herself when she slept and in the hours after.

There were no friends, nobody had come forward to ‘claim’ her, no family to be found; they had all vanished. There was a gap in the records of her life, from the age of 11 to 21 there was no trace of her, not until she’d been found on that blustery, wet day. She’d had pneumonia, was found lying in a ditch, with no memory of the past ten years and few from before that too. She could remember some details: her name and age, primary school friends, her mother’s laugh, her sister’s flare for art; but, when pressed about her secondary school, or what on god’s green earth she’d been doing wandering around the Scottish moors in the middle of October, well she hadn’t a clue.

\--

She sat in the small break room and stared absently at the paper in front of her, the mad man (Black they called him) staring up at her, still and unnerving in his mental disarray. She supposed it was understandable that she would be frightened of him, he was a murderer on the run in England after all, but, if Marlene was honest with herself, the emotion she felt wasn’t entirely identifiable as fear. Instead she felt something more akin to anticipation, she was restless, awaiting an upheaval she couldn’t foresee; she knew she should be scared but she wasn’t. Marlene McKinnon was excited, because for the first time in twelve years (twelve years of resigned acceptance to her permanent confusion), Marlene felt thrills of happiness.

“You alright, Marly dear?” asked her elderly co-worker Janet, shaking her out of her thoughts.

“Pardon?” she asked, quietly, looking up to Janet with a slightly glazed expression on her face. It wasn’t out of character for Marlene to be easily lost and quiet so Janet wasn’t too surprised by the girl’s despondence. In the years she’d known her she’d come to accept and anticipate Marlene’s moments of withdrawal, sometimes lasting for days. It was an aspect of her personality that Janet accommodated for with constant chatter, as if trying to pull Marlene back to her using her voice as a rope.

Janet smiled indulgently, “I said, are you alright, Marly dear?” she raised her voice as she spoke, to allow for her own poor hearing. “You were withdrawn again, I’d offer you a penny, love, but we’d be here all day!” It was then that Janet noticed the paper in front of Marlene, untouched and unopened, the gaunt face on the front made the woman widen her bright blue eyes in trepidation. “Ah, Black, worrying business, isn’t it dear? Never mind, though, don’t worry yourself over it, girl. He won’t be coming ‘round here. What’s a man like that going to do in suburban Surrey, ‘eh?”

“Sorry, Janet?” asked Marlene with a shake of her head. She hadn’t been listening, the woman’s voice was gentle and she often listened to the lilt of her voice rather than the gossip she often spouted.

“Black, dear! Black! Away with the fairies, aren’t you? I said don’t _worry_ , dear. He won’t be coming ‘round here, mark my words.”

“Oh, of course not, Janet; I wasn’t worried. I was just thinking, the news, they’re so vague, what did he do? What could he have done that was so bad that they’re hunting for him like this?”

The earnest curiosity in Marlene’s voice startled Janet, the younger girl was rarely particularly inquisitive, she often kept herself to herself, offering the older woman few pieces of information about her life or her thoughts and opinions. “He’s a murderer, Marlene. That’s all we need to know, don’t be morbid, girl.” Her voice was stern and hard and it alarmed Marlene (as was Janet’s intention). Janet was rarely forceful with Marlene, letting her carry on at her own pace, rarely taking her to task, but Janet was scared now. Marlene’s curiosity, her morbid interest in the savage murderer before them, no good would come from it, it needed to be stopped then and there.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Janet.” Marlene told the woman sat opposite her, Janet’s eyes were hard and forceful, she stared at Marlene and her gaze was deep and penetrating, as if she were trying to will all curiosity out of the girl.

Janet’s face softened, but only marginally, “none taken, Marly; now, get back to work, girl.”

\--

Sirius Black sauntered through the streets of Little Whinging, well, he sauntered as much as a big black dog could. ‘Act like you own the place’, that was his motto, a residue of his parents’ pureblood mentality, although he’d never acknowledge it. He’d expected to be euphoric having escaped Azkaban, he’d expected the clean air and the absence of dementors to be a liberation of his heavy heart and mind, but they’d alerted the bloody Muggle authorities and he was having to watch his back more so than ever.

It was only a dogged determination to save Harry and bring Peter to justice (well, Sirius’ brand of justice) that kept him going, that pushed the blood through his arteries, he’d have given in much sooner if it wasn’t for his purpose. He’d made a promise, when Harry was born he’d promised James to look after him, Sirius had already let James down in so many ways, he couldn’t fail him again.

He fell onto his hind legs and lowered his head, overwhelmed with morose emotion, James. James and Lilly, he’d all but killed them himself, he’d betrayed everyone because of his stupid, idiotic, blind trust. He’d trusted Peter and Remus unconditionally, they were his brothers, his family, they’d never betray him or James, yet he’d suspected Remus. It never crossed his mind that it could have been Peter who’d been the turncoat, Peter had had it _so_ good, he had friends, he had protection and he was loved! Did the esprit de corps of the marauders mean nothing to him?!

Sirius wouldn’t allow it to happen again. He could see it unfolding, he could see Peter’s plan, he knew how Peter thought, what he’d do next. He knew the danger that Harry and his friend were in, he knew what he needed to do. He knew it was time to commit the murder he’d been imprisoned for.

\--

“Sirius? What are you doing? Where are we going?” asked Marlene, as she was through the ministry corridors. Sirius was pulling her along but not playfully like he was prone to, he was rough and forceful, a Black on a mission. Wizards and witches were staring, they watched as the couple rushed past, one determined the other confused; some of the people they passed thought to stop them, but none intervened. These were dark times; Voldemort was running around England spreading madness and disarray, very few would have given a tissue to a crying child lest they unintentionally brought down the wrath of the Death Eaters upon themselves.

“Shut up, Marly. For once, just shut up and do as you’re told. Follow me, don’t ask questions, keep it shut, yeah?” Marlene knew this Sirius, there was darkness in his voice, yes, but it was borne from protectiveness not aggression. Whatever he was up to, she knew, he had her best interests at heart. Past experience had taught her to go along with his moments, his moods, until he decided it was time to enlighten her, then she could argue or go along with whatever hair brained scheme he’d come up with now. Marlene McKinnon would be the first to admit that theirs was not the healthiest of relationships.

They reached the Atrium and Sirius nearly sprinted across the busy hall, she tried to match his pace but he moved as fast as he could and his strides were long. He made no effort to be covert as he led her past the Fountain of Magical Brethren and through the crowds that convened around it; all his efforts seemed to be focused on reaching the row of fireplaces and the exit as swiftly as possible.

Marlene rolled her shoulder as he finally stopped, Sirius was gentle now as he guided her into the fireplace next to him; the contrast in character didn’t surprise her. It was typical of Sirius, his mood was erratic but it was a trait she accepted and loved; yes, Sirius had his moments where he was entirely frighteningly unpredictable but they coupled with moments of sweet tenderness that were heart wrenching and a balm to his brasher moods.

He pulled her flush against him, wrapping an arm around her waist tightly and held her close; “hi,” he said, she scoffed at the simplicity of it.

“Where are we going, Sirius?” she asked, frankness in her voice, now his mood had settled she knew she could begin to break through to his thoughts and reasoning and her shoulder hurt enough that she was in no mood to be too accommodating.

He smiled, that cocky smile of his younger years, the smile that had made her swoon and fall for him so gracelessly at Hogwarts, it seemed like so long since she’d seen him smile such that she was taken aback. “Hogwarts!” he yelled, for the Floo’s benefit and not her own, and he held her tight as they travelled.

\--

Marlene woke up, the night was hot but the sweat covering her body wasn’t solely from the heat of the night. Her heart raced as she sat up and reached to the bedside for the glass of water she always left out, she’d dreamt of him again. She was certain that she recognised the man now as being a younger imitation of Sirius Black, the callous murderer that had frequented the front pages of the tabloids for the past weeks.

She didn’t know what it meant to dream of him, she thought she should be scared, that she should speak to someone. She’d nearly breached the subject with Janet but something about the way she’d spoken had dissuaded her; Janet wasn’t her usual confidant, Marlene didn’t really have one. She avoided too much interaction, lest she had to acknowledge the gaps in her memory. Her teenage years were completely gone, she’d long accepted that they weren’t coming back to her any time soon; whatever had happened must have been so terrible she’d erased years and years from her mind. Certainly nothing good could have resulted in her being found in the middle of Scotland, a place she’d never visited in her life, the same day the remains of her family were found in Surrey.

Marlene didn’t ask questions about her past and, to avoid questions from others, she chose not to socialise either. Her memory wasn’t that good, she would forget things often, Janet called it being ‘away with the fairies’ but it was more than that, she’d forget whole conversations and days and months. Sometimes her mind was just blank.

So, when she started dreaming of a notorious murderer, who could Marlene turn to? Once again there was nobody, but this wasn’t new and she’d grown to accept it. She put the water back on the bedside table and lowered herself to her pillow once again, if Sirius Black wanted to haunt her dreams with memories of times that never happened, she’d let him. She seemed happy in the dreams, at least. She felt content when she woke from most of them, so what harm could they do? Marlene closed her eyes once more and let herself dream.


	2. Chapter 2

There was a nameless black dog wandering the streets of Little Whinging; the dog went unnoticed by most as, unsurprisingly, the occupants of the town had much greater concerns than the growing populace of strays. The dog had been lurking around for just over a month now and people were starting to notice him. Children pointed out to their parents his recurring appearance on the way to school, the postman recognised him and kept a wide berth and, while nobody made the connection, the number of newspapers and bottles of milk stolen from doorsteps had become a growing concern. They were going to raise the issue at the next town meeting.

The dog had lingered too long but he’d had no place else to go. He’d wanted to catch a glimpse of Harry before he headed north, that’s what he had told himself. He’d kept to the bushes and the back gardens of Privet Drive, he’d rummaged through the bins in the early hours and he’d chased the cats to break up the monotony of the day. He’d only seen Harry once or twice though and the disappointment of this was almost too much to bear.

He’d wanted to know that Harry was well, that Harry was happy, that Harry was safe. The few weeks that Sirius had spent roaming Privet Drive though proved otherwise. Sirius Black’s godson was far from well, he was far from happy and he was far from safe. Lily Evans’ heinous sister had clearly neglected her ward, he was skinny (skinnier than James had been at thirteen), he was pale (although Sirius couldn’t be certain that Harry hadn’t inherited his mother’s complexion), he was unkempt (possibly a sign of James’ genetics) and he was unhappy. Harry’s unhappiness was the part that stung Sirius the most.

It wasn’t unheard of for a thirteen year old boy to produce so much emotional magic that he blew up his aunt, but it was quite uncommon. In Sirius’ day it had generally been assumed that, after a few terms at Hogwarts, a child tended to have better control over his magic. Harry’s erratic display worried him; Sirius had wanted desperately to enter the house, wand blazing, and duel James’ brother-in-law, he’d wanted to scorn Lily’s vile sister and mock their bullying son. He’d wanted to grab Harry and run, embrace him like he would’ve embraced James, held him and never let go. 

Harry had stormed out and Sirius had watched, in dog form, as his godson pulled his hastily packed trunk down the street. Sirius followed, keeping his distance, his four legs moved without his instruction. He was captivated by Harry, obsessed with the young man in front of him; this was _James’_ son. James and Lily’s son all grown up, how had it happened so _fast_? Where had the time gone? Had it really been twelve years? Twelve Christmases, twelve birthdays, twelve horrible, lonely Halloweens… Did Harry hear about his parents? Did anyone tell him how he had Lily’s eyes? How he looked so, so much like James that it physically hurt? Did anyone tell Harry stories of his parents? How they’d fought and laughed and flirted and cried.

Before Sirius knew what he was doing he’d leapt forward and Harry had spotted him. His dark dog eyes met Lily’s glittering green and, above all the emotion that overwhelmed Sirius, he saw Harry’s fear. He saw him fall backwards in shock, shock that Sirius couldn’t comprehend (did Harry recognise him in his dog form?). Harry thrust his arm up into the air, wand proffered to the sky, and Sirius knew what would happen next and he knew he had to run, he knew he had to leave lest someone see any glimpse of him but he didn’t want to. He didn’t _want_ to leave his godson looking so scared and so lost and so helpless in the middle of the night in Surrey but he had to and Sirius Black felt that, in all actuality, he’d failed Lily and James yet again.

Now Harry was long gone and Sirius had no reason to stay. He’d stuck around in case Harry had returned to his Aunt and Uncle but there had been no sign of him, save for the Aurors that visited the couple the night of Harry’s disappearance. Just to be certain, Sirius had stayed in the insufferable town until September 1st, when he could be certain that Harry had left the South East and headed to Hogwarts. He felt assured that Harry would be safer after the 1st, knowing that Harry would be under the watchful eye of Dumbledore, with extra protection in place to guard against his monstrous, murderous self and whatever other beasties crawled out of the woodwork to hunt him.

Like Wormtail, Sirius thought darkly. Wormtail was the immediate problem. If Peter had worked his way into Harry’s friend’s life then Peter had easy access to Harry and that wasn’t okay. Sirius couldn’t settle with that knowledge. He needed to intervene, to find some way to remove the problem that was Peter Pettigrew before he saw any opportunities on the horizon to take advantage of. In Azkaban Sirius had heard plenty of rumours; rumours of the Dark Lord’s return. Wormtail would surely hear of his master’s newfound health and come running, and what better way to please his Lord than with the boy who was his downfall in the first place?

It was time for Sirius to head north, to head to Hogwarts; it was time to take action and stop Peter from finally finishing the betrayal he’d instigated so many years before.

\--

The great red steam engine roared to life with an intimidating amount of smoke and noise. Marlene McKinnon had taken a seat on it a full half hour before and had been braced for each of those thirty minutes for any kind of movement except the traditional one. Marlene expected magic. When she’d seen the steam train before her she’d assumed, quite wrongly, that the train would be powered by less conventional methods, something less archaic than heat and water, something magic.

She was both disappointed and relieved when the engine roared into life with more familiar movement, maybe her understanding of life wouldn’t change completely, just a little bit. If small things like this stayed the same, Marlene thought that she could probably cope in the end.

\--

Lily Evans had made a friend. She was quite proud of this accomplishment as (counting Severus) she now had _two_ magical friends. Lily had decided that she would declare her new found friendship (with a Miss Marlene McKinnon from Kent) by linking arms with the blonde girl for all the world (or at least all of the Hogwarts Express) to see.

The two girls looked a strange pair; one was of average height, blonde and had a heart shaped face while the other was lithe, tall and a natural redhead. Lily thought her face was just round enough that she didn’t resemble her elder sister (or, in Lily’s meaner moments, a horse) and was quite happy with her eleven year old appearance, while Marlene was self-conscious lest her rounder face was deemed chubby by any passing criticism. Neither girl had anything to worry about, of course, but at eleven years old (and in their teenage years ahead of them), their contrasting appearances left both of them with a niggling desire to compare themselves.

James Potter and Sirius Black didn’t care for comparing Lily Evans or Marlene McKinnon, neither thought it particularly necessary. But then James and Sirius were also eleven year old boys more preoccupied with dungbombs, showing off their transfiguration skills and whose fake wand turned into a more impressive chicken.

\--

There was an unspoken agreement between Lily and Marlene that they would sit next to each other in lessons; they’d met as two nervous muggleborns on the train the day before and, after both being sorted into Gryffindor, had each silently pledged to have the other’s back.  They’d sat next to each other during the feast last night (where they learnt that Marlene loved roast chicken and Lily was more partial to beef), they’d travelled up to their dormitory together (a room they happily shared with two other girls, Alice and Sarah) and eaten breakfast together the following morning (where both were too nervous to eat much more than toast). The pair were becoming fast friends indeed.

As they entered the Charms room Lily was visibly excited for the impending lesson, there was a bounce to her step and she was eager to get a ‘good’ seat; Marlene on the other hand was more anxious than excited, what if she wasn’t smart enough? What if they’d made a mistake, she didn’t really have magic and the letter went to the wrong girl? Would they kick her out there and then? Would she at least get a refund on all those expensive books her mother had had to buy? She’d voiced her concerns that morning to Lily and Alice in the dorm but the other girls had laughed at her nerves, “don’t be silly, Marly,” they’d told her. “You got your letter; it had _your_ name on it! You’ll be brilliant, just wait and see!”

Marlene didn’t particularly feel that her nerves were ‘silly’ at all, but for fear of scaring off her newfound friend, she bashfully accepted Lily’s words. In Charms she settled into her seat, next to the red headed witch, and placed the books, parchment and quill (that she still struggled to write with, another worry) in front of her. Lily was sat up straight, craning her neck to try and see the tiny Professor. Marlene had directed the other witch further towards the back of the room than she’d wanted to sit, “Lily, we’re already two muggleborns, let’s not draw more attention to ourselves, yeah?” she’d argued with logic that even eager Lily Evans couldn’t dispute.

As the teacher began his introduction, “Hello, ladies and gentlemen, my name is Professor Flitwick and welcome to your first year of Hogwarts and Charms!”, the four first year Gryffindor boys rushed into the classroom, faux apologies on their lips.

“Oh, _honestly_ ,” Lily whispered to Marlene. “Showing up late for the first lesson, it’s just _rude_!”

The boys (who introduced themselves to the teacher as James, Remus, Sirius and Peter) took the remaining four seats in the room, James and Sirius behind Lily and Marlene while Remus and Peter sat at the front next to a pair of disgruntled Ravenclaws; clearly Lily wasn’t the only student ungrateful for the interruption. 

Professor Flitwick continued his lesson but soon enough the attention spans of the wizards behind Lily and Marlene waned, “oi! Red!” whispered Sirius. “What do you call a Hufflepuff with two brain cells?”

Lily pointedly ignored Sirius’ interruption and sniggers, while Marlene struggled not to turn around and enquire for the answer.

“I don’t know, Sirius. What _do_ you call a Hufflepuff with two brain cells?” asked James, the smile on his face audible in his voice. It infuriated Lily, as it would continue to do for the next six years.

Marlene turned around just in time to catch the cocky smile break out across Sirius’ face, “pregnant.”

The two boys roared with laughter, the joke was terrible (it was undeniable), but that didn’t seem to matter when they were sharing the euphoric feeling of a new friendship. Lily tutted, not appreciating the interruption while Marlene stifled a small smile, she thought she might like Hogwarts after all.

\--

Sirius travelled north with a little difficulty, he didn’t know how much Hogsmeade had changed in his twelve year absence and was wary of transforming and apparating only to be captured on his arrival. There were few places that he knew he could apparate to without being seen and none that he could trust his memory and safety on. Instead he combined walking and apparition, in dog form he would travel across the more populated parts of England (and then Scotland) while he apparated only when he knew it was safe.

It was a lengthy process, taking him nearly two weeks to travel the five hundred odd miles, but it was a safer one. It also gave him opportunity to plan and think (although Azkaban had offered little time for anything else) with a clear head for the first time since his capture. His main thoughts were, naturally, of Peter and Harry and the threat that Peter held; but sometimes, very rarely, he allowed his mind to drift and wander to the witch he’d left behind.

In the hours when Sirius had driven himself spare with thoughts of vengeance and grief he yielded to the memories of Marlene and the brief life they’d had before it had all gone to shit. His only comfort, as he travelled further north into the cold of autumn, was that he’d saved her from all of this. He’d saved her from the trial, James and Lily dying, Peter’s betrayal; Sirius had given Marlene the chance to live a better life, a life without the prejudice, danger and heartbreak that went hand in hand with him and Wizarding society. He hoped she was happy.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, there are awkward updates on tumblr if you're interested. Feedback is wonderful.


	3. Chapter 3

October had come to England and with it storms and rain. The Egham high street was dominated with people rushing from shop door to shop door, dodging the aggressive rain and bracing against the chilling wind. The cold snap wasn’t unexpected, it was England, but it was quite unwelcome; that didn’t stop the residents and merchants of Egham from gleefully waxing lyrical about the failings of the weatherman and the curse of global warming though. The truth was that the entire nation got a bit of a kick out of having something unavoidable to complain about, England couldn’t change their shoddy weather, but they could protest it earnestly without treading on too many toes.  It was probably the most culturally acceptable form of passive aggression known to man.

Marlene McKinnon welcomed the stormy weather. She welcomed the distraction given by the complaining customers who couldn’t quite believe that (despite their 50 years of experience) the weather had turned so suddenly, she welcomed the pools and puddles that collected by the umbrella stand and in the doorway (giving her something to belligerently mop) and heavens bless the wet leaves that caked themselves to Greater London’s train tracks, causing delays and meaningless angst across the country.

Anything, anything at all, to distract Marlene from the terrors of her dreams at night. They’d taken a darker turn lately, was it the weather or her discontent that had prompted the change? She wasn’t sure. She dreamt of Muggles (what _were_ Muggles?) in danger, being scared for her life, sitting in a darkened cottage day after day, waiting, hoping that Sirius would return alive and not some Death Eaters ready for her with a curse on their lips. She didn’t understand all of what she dreamt about, Muggles, Death Eaters and Sirius: it was all lunacy. But it scared her, and she knew that she should be scared, her dream-self wasn’t safe and neither was the Sirius Black that, despite his well-advertised crimes, both her waking-self and her dream-self, had developed a fondness for.

\--

Sirius Black hadn’t made an appearance at the flat they shared in three days, six hours and twenty-two minutes and Marlene McKinnon was fucking petrified. Her first thoughts, after checking the calendar to see if she’d miscalculated the date of the full moon, were that he’d left her; Sirius had given her the boot like she’d always expected him to do eventually. It was only a matter of time before he would realise how much better he could do, she _knew_ this. Over the past two days (3 hours and ten minutes) she’d decided that Sirius wouldn’t actually be that callous; yes, they’d been having problems. They’d been rowing an awful lot of late, but he loved her; Sirius Black had enough abandonment issues that he wouldn’t just ditch her.

That was the thought that kept her sane over those horrid fifty-one hours that it would take for him to reappear, tired, bloody and kissing softly below her ear as if he’d never left.

\--

The common room was almost empty, it was two days before the Christmas holidays and, what with the unprecedented recent snowfall, few could resist the siren song of creating havoc on the frozen lake. It was for this reason that Marlene McKinnon hadn’t considered that the common room might be a poor choice of hiding place and exactly why she was so dismayed when Sirius Black made an appearance (the odds of which were beyond unlikely).

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he stated plainly as he fell into the seat on the sofa beside her. He pointedly chose to ignore her shocked expression and attempts to edge away from him.

She didn’t even bother to look abashed, it was true, they both knew it and Lily was refusing to cover for her anymore.

He sighed, frustrated but unsurprised, he didn’t except her to make this easy. “Why Marlene? Why have you been avoiding me?”

Marlene continued to ignore him, the crackling fire the only sound in the room apart from Sirius’ impatient sighs. He watched as she stared even harder at the Charms book in front of her, _Advanced Summoning and Knowing When to Duck_ , Sirius sighed, bloody hell, Flitwick’s coursework got duller every year.

She had nearly managed to pull it off, she realised fleetingly. She’d nearly made it to the holidays without confrontation. She’d been so bloody close. “I’m not sure this is working anymore, Sirius.” She’d said it so quietly he could almost pretend he hadn’t heard her.

She was on the edge of her seat now, rigid and poised, ready to bolt at the first opportunity; stubbornly (as if he knew anything else) Sirius refused to let her. “What the fuck brought this on?” there was an edge to his voice that hardly masked his distress.

He was hurting already, Marlene hadn’t wanted it to be this way, she didn’t want to hurt him. “I’m not convinced it’s safe, Sirius.” Her voice was placating as she tried to ease the reason of her decision into his consciousness. “You’re a Black, I’m… a Mudblood. Really, this is for the best.”

He cringed at her words, both ‘Black’ and that poison spewed by pure blooded bastards more concerned with ‘cleanliness’ than humanity. “And who the bloody hell told you that?” he asked, voice rising despite his attempts to keep calm.

“Nobody, it’s obvious. You’re a risk to me and I’m a risk to you. Why risk our lives on teenage frivolity?” all Sirius knew was that she was lying, he knew her too well and she of all people knew there was nothing frivolous between them.

“Snape? Mulciber? Regulus?” he listed, smiling with grim satisfaction as she barely flinched at his brother’s name. “Right, you stay here; I’ll see you later. Read your Charms, get that pureblood shite out of your head.”

He was gone before she could argue and another wave of guilt coursed through her.

\--

The smell of bergamot and lemon filtered through Marlene’s daydream, dragging her back to the staffroom where an expectant Janet stared at her imploringly from across the dirty Formica table. She nodded towards the two mugs of tea on the table and Marlene accepted one gratefully. “You’re not sleeping, Marly?” Janet asked with curiosity colouring her tender voice.

“Is it that obvious?” the younger girl asked with a small laugh.

“I’ll say, you look knackered, love. Get that down you, it’ll wake you up a bit and we can have a chat about it, ‘eh?” she gestured to the mug of tea now cradled between Marlene’s hands as she blew across the rim of the mug, diverting the steam and cooling the tea.

“You think a mug of weak tea will help cure a few weeks of bad dreams?” she asked, Earl Grey wasn’t her usual preference and certainly didn’t have the caffeine content she needed to become functional.

“Well, you shouldn’t over-do it, dear,” said Janet, a hint of chastisement in her voice. She notoriously frowned upon anything stronger than the weak brew as bad for the health and believed that coffee was the devil’s work. It had made for some rather grumpy mornings in the past. “Now, tell me about these dreams of yours,” she prompted, eager curiosity in her eyes and it was clear she was trying not to press Marlene too hard.

“Oh, it’s just more of the same really,” Marlene replied, waving her hand airily. For some reason she suddenly felt like she didn’t really want to divulge the information to Janet and yet she couldn’t help it when, after her dismissal, she said, “I’m dreaming about Sirius Black still, you see.” She looked shocked, Marlene hadn’t meant to say that, she’d just thought it.

“Sirius Black, dear? The murderer?” asked Janet, her interest heightened as she leant forward in her chair across the table. 

“Yes, that’s him. It’s so odd, Janet. He’s such a kind man in my dreams, yet dark. I can tell he’s hurt.”

“I’ve always said you’ve had an overactive imagination, Marlene. What kind of things happens in these dreams? You’ve been reading too many papers, I told you, didn’t I tell you? But you didn’t listen to me. I said to you, Marly, you hold back on them tabloids or you’ll regret it, girl.”

“You did, Janet. I remember and I listened! I did! But I’m drawn to him and I don’t know why!” her voice spewed the embarrassing honesty before she could restrain herself and she cringed visibly at the crassness of her words.

“You like the danger, girl,” she said with disgust. “You and all these other women, you’re all the same, fantasizing over dark mysterious strangers, never taking any mind of why they’re so ruddy dark in the first place.”

“I can’t help it, Janet.”

“Oh, no,” she replied mocking. “I’m sure you can’t, just like I’m sure he won’t be able to help killing you in your sleep when he learns of your infatuation with him. Now you tell me about these dreams, girl, and we’ll see if I can save you from this mess you’re putting your mind through.”

And so Marlene told her, she told her of her dreams, the good and the bad. She told her about Lily, how she’d met her on the train to the school she dreamt of and how they’d become fast friends. She detailed the relationship, both at Hogwarts and after to Janet, although the details of both were hazy. She detailed their dream friendship, how much he made her laugh and how she’d helped him too. The compassion that Marlene showed Sirius was clear and it worried Janet, Janet who believed she knew a lot more than Marlene about the ways of the world and dreams and feelings. Janet warned Marlene off of her night-time fantasies but secretly revelled in them vicariously.

\--

The rain slowed to a passive drizzle as dusk settled, it was a reprieve for the families of Yarrowford who’d only know the intense hammer of unrelenting torrential rain on their windows, roofs and skin for the past week. The deluge of rain had been so heavy that few were concerned with the world outside their window, opting instead to gaze intently at the fire in the hearth (for many had only lit their fires within the past week and there was still a novelty to it). Because of their distraction few people noticed the supposed mass murderer rummaging through the black bin bags lining the street waiting for collection, as was the way of the small village environment.

In dog form, and then as the rain got lighter and the night darker human form, Sirius wandered the streets of the village, ripping the straining black plastic effortlessly and rummaging with reckless abandon. His repulsion towards his actions had long faded with the gnawing hunger that sent palpitations through his body. He fell upon an old kebab with a cry of joy, the meat was sodden with bin water, flavourless and greening; he ate the few morsels with no restraint, no caution, he’d found food at long last and didn’t care for the state it came in. In a second bag, in front of the house with the emerald green door and long faded wisteria, he found three mouldy oranges; he cackled loudly at James’ voice in his head, encouraging him to take his vitamins, a habit he’d picked up from the more health conscious Lily. The oranges had a bitter and lingering sour taste that made his stomach heave but they were juicy and the flavour was so defined that he relished it anyway, sucking each segment dry desperately and loudly. 

The travelling north had taken its toll on Sirius, his body had been still, unused and starved for too long. If he’d been skin and bones upon leaving his prison then he was even less now, his face (when he saw it) tired and gaunt, a skull wrapped in white, thin tissue paper and his hollow brown eyes showed the only signs of life with their conviction and frantic desperation. He was on edge constantly, ever nervy and jumpy; all he knew was getting to Hogwarts and killing Peter. It haunted his day, his night and his dreams. Except once.

One night, in the midst of a fever brought on by poor food and the rapidly changing cold weather, Sirius dreamt of Marlene. She was laughing in his dream, laughing at his foolishness (as she often did), “look at you!” she crowed. “You’re soaked to the skin, again, you’re going to catch your death, Sirius Black!” and he did, the next morning the pair were woken by the wet sneezes that erupted from his shaking body.

“Oh, Sirius,” she sighed through her sleepy haze. It didn’t stop her rummaging for the pepper-up though, and laughing as he spouted steam like a boiling kettle on the common room fire.

They spent the day in bed, Muggle telly playing in the background as she stroked his hair and he moaned, groaned and generally behaved like a sickly adolescent male. As much as she mocked him and berated his pathetic grumbling she nursed him, mopping his fevered brow, fetching tea and soup and (to his disgust) more and more potions. When night came she gave him some Ogdens mixed with honey and lemon, a Muggle cure he’d never had before, naturally it knocked him for six and she fell asleep with him breathing whiskey breath on her cheek.

Sirius awoke the next morning with the cobbles of the backstreets marking his cheek and bruising his back, he sobbed openly at the memory of his dream, tears leaving trails through the dirt that stained his cheeks. In that moment he was ready to give it all up. Harry had Dumbledore to look after him; he’d probably be safe without him, better even, when had Sirius been a boon to the Potter family anyway? He could go find Marlene, she’d look after him, he thought desperately; once she remembered what had happened. But Marlene was better off without him, she’d have a family now, children, little blonde haired girls laughing and smiling and making their first magic. They could even be at school with Harry now, if she’d moved on quickly. He hoped she had.

Harry, oh Merlin, he’d abandon Harry? Again? For the sake of his own happiness? When he’d already ruined the child’s life once, twice, countless times? Sirius transformed in a fit of anger back to his dog form and urged himself on to a run, he had already crossed into the Scottish highlands and it wasn’t far off now. He couldn’t drag his heels any longer, he needed to save Harry, it was the least he could do, and finally commit the murder he’d been imprisoned for.

\--

A.N.: there are parts of this that I’m a bit iffy about so my apologies, it would have been updated a week ago but I landed myself in hospital for a week which delayed everything. Don’t Think Twice chapter is nearly finished and should be up by the end of the weekend, I wrote a Blackinnon oneshot for the Tumblr Secret Santa as well which is on my profile if you’re interested. Feedback is fairly necessary, don’t you think? 


	4. Chapter 4

Janet sighed, hanging her coat by the door as she shrugged it off; her day had been long and the tedium took its toll. Marlene was a slower task than anyone had ever imagined her to be thirteen years before when she’d been assigned. They’d been a long thirteen years. At first she’d been told to simply watch her and then, when it became clear that the Dark Lord was gone but not forgotten, to steer her life, for the remaining Death Eaters knew an opportunity when they saw one.

To Janet’s knowledge of Marlene’s life (and she had a fair bit), nobody had ever bothered to look for Marlene McKinnon and, in the more recent years, Janet had often felt that monitoring her was futile, if not entirely redundant. That was until Sirius Black’s escape. The Muggle newspapers and television reports seemed to have been a catalyst for the Mudblood witch and, while before his escape Marly had hardly had a ‘funny dream’ of a night, now she was haunted by them. It was all getting ever so exciting.

But, despite thirteen years of hard work gaining the girl’s trust, Marlene still held back and it was a constant source of frustration for the older witch. Still, Janet wasn’t above more clandestine methods of persuasion, she was a dab hand at them really, and that was where the Veritaserum came in. It wasn’t the first time she’d spiked the girl’s tea (always in earl grey for the heady masking flavour of the bergamot), she’d done it before to guide her: make her too ill for the date with the nice chap from the chippy, make her more susceptible to Janet’s influence and she’d even Imperiused her a few times in the past but Janet had always felt that that was a little crude and besides, look where it’d got Bella.

Now Janet was using the truth potion daily, just to get a full account of the dreams. Marlene had become worryingly secretive of late and Janet was scared that, if Sirius Black _had_ approached Marly, the witch wouldn’t tell her. Out of boredom Janet also dabbled in potions that guided her dreams, Janet liked to be in control of the girl after all this time, and there was a sadistic joy from being able to hear about dreams the subject of which she’d dropped casually the evening before.

Marlene’s relationship with the Mudblood Evans had always been of interest to the Death Eaters that survived. Evans had been a conundrum, why the Dark Lord had been so fascinated with her brood had baffled them and, now that Janet was able to steer Marlene’s dreams, she was eager to learn of memories of the girl to report back.

\--

The grime and dirt of the London Underground was eternal, of that Marlene McKinnon had no doubt. It had established itself at some point within the past hundred years and was quite comfortable where it was and had little to no inclination to vacate the tunnelled, tiled walls it had so stubbornly merged with. Not that Marlene had that much time to observe the dusty grunge as she threw herself up the Piccadilly Circus escalator, pushing those who so ignorantly ignored the signs requesting patrons to ‘stand to the right’ aside. Marlene was running late, she’d Apparated to one of the backstreets behind Elephant and Castle tube station in good time but, somehow, time had been absorbed on the Bakerloo line and by the time she’d burst out of the train carriage at Piccadilly, pushing many the Muggle tourist aside, she was supposed to have met Lily five minutes prior. 

She paid no attention to the streets or tourists surrounding her as she flung herself out of the right exit and raced towards 181 Piccadilly. Afternoon tea at Fortnum’s had been Lily’s idea at the beginning of their seventh year; to celebrate her Head Girl badge, the two girls had taken tea at the infamous department store and the tradition had stuck. Now three years later, on the warmest October day Marlene had ever known, Lily had requested another ‘afternoon of Muggle indulgence’ (as they liked to call it) with little warning and Marlene was running late, it had seemed so important too.

Up the stairs and past tourists Marlene travelled, with as much ‘dignified’ haste as she could manage, she knew from the last time they’d visited (six months before, for it was expensive and neither could afford to indulge too often) and had also been running late that arriving out of breath to the pastel tea lounge was greatly frowned upon by everyone except Lily (who’d smothered her giggles behind a demure napkin). In truth, neither of the Muggleborn witches felt they ‘fitted in’ in the Fortnum’s store, with its extravagance and upper-class nuances, but that was beside the point; it was Muggle and they so often felt out of touch with their Muggleborn roots that the palaver of it all was welcomed. 

She saw Lily, her red hair a beacon she was ever thankful of in moments like these, and made her way to the small circular table not far from the bar, waving away the waiter who had approached to seat her. “Sorry I’m late, bit short notice really,” she said sending Lily a pointed look and picking up the menu, despite knowing what she’d order anyway. 

“Yeah, I’m sorry, Marlene. I just, I needed to talk to you.” She replied, making no reference to the grand setting of this ‘talk’ she clearly intended to have.

The pair ordered afternoon tea for two and as the waiter left Marlene looked at Lily frankly and asked, “what’s Petunia done now?”

Lily sighed, “nothing, oh thank you,” she said acknowledging the swift arrival of the tea tray. After making sure the leaves were steeping she added, “well, she’s pregnant.”

Marlene pulled a face, “urgh, that’ll be an ugly baby.”

“Too right, James keeps trying to get me to place a bet on whether it’ll look more like a horse or a pig,” she replied smiling, in truth Lily’d been a little put out by her sister’s pregnancy, knowing that Petunia would do her utmost to ensure Lily had no involvement. With James’ help though she was beginning to come to terms with it, he had been cracking jokes for a good week now, all well placed slights against Vernon ‘Vermin’ Dursley and his attempts at procreation; she’d even begun laughing at them now too, the pressure alleviated by her own news.

“Bloody hell,” muttered Marlene with a humorous display of disgust, “that’s an image.” She reached across the table and lifted the lid of the teapot, checking the state of the tea. “Oh, it’s ready, shall I be mother?” she asked, making to pour it.

“Oh, no,” refused Lily. “I think perhaps I should.”

There was a small smile on her face that Marlene didn’t notice when she looked up at her friend confused, “it’s just pouring tea, Lil’.”

“Yeah, I know,” she replied beaming now, her unavoidable smile lighting up the room. “I think I’ll need the practice though,” she added as she passed the teacup and saucer across the table to her friend.

Marlene looked excited and reverential, gaping at Lily’s stomach as if expecting a sudden bump to emerge (they were witches, she’d argue later, it could happen), “holy shit!” she crowed, ignoring the furrowed brows of the neighbouring tables. “Does James know?”

“Yes! He went mad, he’s been begging me to tell you all week so that he could jump Sirius,” Lily rolled her eyes, as if wryly acknowledging that Sirius would be as involved in the upbringing of their child as James was.

“Oh, Merlin,” sighed Marlene, “you realise what you’ve signed yourself up for?”

“Ha, yes, Sirius is to be Godfather, _if_ he says ‘yes’,” Marlene scoffed, as if he wouldn’t, he’d be like a puppy at Christmas the second James asked. “Will you join him? As godmother, I mean.”

Marlene looked like she’d been slapped, the shock was so evident on her face. No wonder Lily wanted to come to Fortnum’s, a good cup of tea was definitely needed. She gulped from her cup inelegantly, “ruddy hell, Lily. Let a girl drink her tea before you throw something like that at her, yeah?”

Lily smiled obligingly and watched as Marlene cut herself a scone, screwing her nose up in disgust as the other girl added jam before the clotted cream (for she was partial to the cream going on the scone before the jam). Marlene bit into the loaded bun and sighed indulgently, relaxing into her chair and, as she toyed lightly with the teaspoon on the saucer, said “oh, alright then.”

\--

By their seventh year at Hogwarts Marlene McKinnon was experienced enough to know that, when Lily Evans stormed into the dormitory and flung herself down on her four poster bed with a loud sigh it was probably James Potter’s fault. Lily lay on her front, making a half-hearted attempt to smother herself with her pillow, her red hair fanned out around her (having fallen out of its bun during her march from the Prefect meeting to the Gryffindor tower)and every so often a muffled expletive could be heard emerge from her vicinity.

Eventually, having reached the point where she _had_ nearly suffocated herself, she flopped herself over and sat up, looking to Marlene (who was still reading her book and ignoring her friend’s rant), “Dumbledore,” she announced grandly. “Is bloody batshit, Marly. I won’t hear any different.”

Marlene sighed under her breath, “what’s James done now?” she asked, not bothering to look up.

“He rescheduled the entire rounds system just to disrupt the Slytherin Quidditch practice. Again.”

Marlene smiled happily, enjoying anything that involved the Slytherin Quidditch team to suffer, “again? Brilliant, I bet Diggory was happy.”

“Happy?” Lily asked with a bitter laugh. “Oh, he was bloody ecstatic, clapped him on the back and promised a bottle of Ogden’s.”

Marlene grinned, if she played her cards right some of that firewhiskey could make its way to her, not that the Marauders ever had much trouble procuring it, but none of them looked a gift Abraxan in the mouth when it came to freebies. “Nice! I wonder if Sirius can-“

“-Until I switched it all back again,” she added smugly.

“What? Why would you do that to us?” asked Marlene, the Gryffindor Seeker and extremely invested in a Slytherin loss.

“Don’t be melodramatic,” replied Lily, waving her hand airily. “The Quidditch team are doing well enough and anyway, Potter was discriminating-“

“-we _need_ Slytherin to lose-“

“-It wasn’t fair!”

Marlene looked at her friend frankly, her book long tossed aside. “They’re Slytherins, Lily. They’re not that inclined to fair either.”

“Well,” she said, grasping at straws. “Potter’s a prick.”

The abrupt change in subject took Marlene by surprise and she sighed in frustration at her friend’s stubbornness and ever frequent James bashing, “he isn’t actually.”

Instead of a cutting remark, Lily sighed. “I know, but when he pulls crap like this it’d be a lot easier if he were,” she muttered quietly, half hoping that Marlene wouldn’t hear.

Marlene sat up on her bed and gave the redheaded witch a pointed look, “what’d be easier, Lil?” she asked tentatively. She already knew the answer, Lily had been lying to herself about her affections for approximately three weeks by her reckoning but she wanted to hear it from the girl herself.

 “Liking him,” she muttered. “I wouldn’t like him if he were, Marly.” It was then that Marlene realised that Lily was crying, not audibly but there were fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She crossed the room and settled on the soft mattress next to her where she began to rub small circles into her back soothingly.

“You need to stop trying to fight him, fight _it_ ,” she explained softly. “It’ll be easier when you do,” as Marlene knew all too well with Sirius.

Lily shook her head, “Sev will never forgive me,” she said before sobbing openly.

Marlene struggled to hide her disgust, “he has no right to _your_ forgiveness so fuck his. What with all the Death Eaters gallivanting out there, if you like Potter, you should tell him. Don’t let it get too late.”

Lily sighed begrudgingly, accepting her friend’s words and wiping away the stray tears as she stood up. “I’ll go find him then, shall I? I think I probably have an apology to make.”

A wide grin spread across Marlene’s face, “and I’ll go warn Sirius, James is besotted with you. He’ll be unbearable, Sirius’ll need to be drunk or at least forewarned for this one.”

\--

The moon was nearly full when Sirius Black reached the front door of the Shrieking Shack. He’d opted for the Hogsmeade entrance, deciding that it was less conspicuous than wandering around the Hogwarts grounds in the early hours. With no wand to open the magically locked door, Sirius covered his elbow with the thick coat he’d stolen from a bin bag outside of a Salvation Army shop and smashed the thin glass with little difficulty, his bony elbows though weak were sharp enough to make light work of the window. Once the window was broken he could shimmy his way through the frame, for the first time thankful for his near starved body.

The downside of breaking the window open he soon realised was, of course, the draft that it allowed in, he moved a broken door from the floor (evidence of Remus’ monthly habitations) and propped it up, hoping it would serve until he could scrounge up something better.

The house was dark, so dark that if it wasn’t for his own memories of the structure, he would have been quite lost and several thoroughly stubbed toes. As it was he could make his way around the hovel with a fair amount of confidence. He walked from room to room in the pitch black, entertaining fond memories of the evenings before Remus’ transformations and drunken lazy Sunday afternoons.

With his hand trailing along the wall beside him he reached the fireplace; here was where Peter had thrown up that time in sixth year after drinking too much gillywater. They’d all told him to take it slow, that it wasn’t at all like the firewhiskey and butterbeer they knocked back with reckless abandon, it was sickly stuff and sick it made him. James, Remus and Sirius had howled with laughter as Peter proved them right, groaning in the hearth, cursing the foul drink he’d never touch again.

Sirius stroked the wood of the mantle, searching out the initials he knew to be carved there: ‘JP4LE’. James had engraved that in their fourth year, they’d all laughed at him, of course. Lily Evans, the perfect student, wouldn’t give reckless James Potter the time of day, let alone a second glance. Still, James has proclaimed that one day he would marry her, that they’d have beautiful redheaded babies with sparkling green eyes and astonishing Quidditch prowess; he’d been quite drunk at the time.  

He found his way up the stairs and into the bedroom, Remus’ bedroom. Why the school had provided an adolescent werewolf with a bed had often been a source of their speculation. It had never been used, save for being a scratching post. When Remus collapsed as the moon sunk and the sun rose it was usually in front of the fire his friends would light him; he could never seem to get warm again after the change. Although Remus hadn’t used the bed, it was still in a state of disarray. The sheets were torn, the posts mauled and the stuffing of the mattress could be found throughout the shack. The damp had settled in the bed, it smelt musty and the sheets were bitter cold, the mattress had lumps and Sirius feared there were rats, he hated rats.

He couldn’t light a fire so, after wrapping himself in one of Remus’ old blankets (that still smelt like the musky wolf that was so familiar to Sirius’ doggish sense of smell), he settled on the bed, holding himself tight and desperate for warmth. Eventually he drifted off and though his sleep was fitful and sporadic it was the best night’s sleep he’d had in thirteen years.

The early morning light soon awoke him, there were no curtains and the solitary window faced the east. The light was warm and he dozed peacefully, stretching out he cracked his joints appreciatively. Absentmindedly he reached out for the Daily Prophet he’d pilfered from a bin in Hogsmeade the evening before, he scanned the front page paying little attention to Fudge’s latest failures and was about to turn the page when he noticed the date: 30th October 1993. Today was Halloween. He sat up, shocked, disgusted that the day had nearly passed him by, even in Azkaban he’d never forgotten it – Merlin, the Dementors always liked to remind him, in their own special way.

Cradling his face his swore in disgust with himself, his gaze drifted to the Hogwarts towers he could faintly see from the window – was Harry awake mourning his parents from his bedside too? In that moment Sirius knew he would have to act tonight, if he could finally kill Peter on the anniversary of their death, well it would be quite fitting really. He’d go up during the Halloween feast, he decided. He’d be less likely to be spotted then, not that he cared once he’d got Peter. They could do what they liked with him after that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. Wow, did anyone else expect an update that quickly? I didn’t… It’s been brought to my attention that I originally wrote that there’d only be 10 or so chapters of this story, that is no longer the case! I’ve got a rough 25-29 mapped out.   
> I wrote a Marauder centric oneshot this week that’s also been uploaded, it’s called ‘Bored’ and is, literally, about a bored Peter Pettigrew. I’ve always wanted to write more Peter and there’s definitely more to come in this, I can’t stand him but I find him fascinating.   
> I posted a lot of my researching for this chapter on tumblr (sixpetalpoppy) and I’m very sorry about the sentence that had me sobbing openly to my friend on Steam for five minutes.


	5. Chapter 5

\--

Privet Drive: it looked like the single most boring place on earth, even more so than Marlene’s town of Egham. It didn’t, Marlene mused as she walked down the quiet roads, look like the kind of place where magic was nurtured amongst the neat hedges and trim lawns. She couldn’t picture the friends she’d dreamt of living here either, it seemed so outlandish that she nearly left; Lily was vibrant and radiant while James exuded character, here seemed so lacking in comparison. Privet Drive was muted and reserved, as if self-expression of any kind was frowned upon for being ‘a little too much’.

In front of her stood number four, like the rest of the street it subtly exuded money, they were well to do (and they wanted you to know it). A car was in the drive (obviously expensive, flashy but not gaudy) but there was space for another, the curtains were open (though the nets declined her a view of the inside) and the faint orange burning of an overhead light confirmed that Petunia Dursley née Evans was home.

Marlene made her way up the path, careful not to displace the neat gravel, and raised her hand to the modest brass knocker. Lily had brought her here once, when she had asked Petunia to come to the wedding, and as maid of honour Marlene had drawn the short straw of moral support. That evening she’d drunkenly told Sirius of the pale blonde woman with a horse-like narrow face slamming the door in her younger sister’s face and the subsequent amount of gin they’d put away.

The Dursley family had made no appearance at the Potter wedding.

Marly knocked on the door, just three short raps. It was silent for a prolonged moment and then a voice that, although intended to be effortless and welcoming sounded much more strained and exasperated, called out “coming,” in an off-key musical way. The door opened and an older version of the woman she’d fleetingly met all those years before was suddenly appraising her warily.

Petunia Dursley clearly did not recognise Marlene McKinnon (for the door was still open after all) but it was obvious that she didn’t like the look of her. The woman was clearly collecting for something, thought Petunia, although she couldn’t decide what. She was preoccupied with trying to determine how exactly to get rid of her when, to Petunia’s shock, the younger woman asked, “are you Petunia?”

Mrs Dursley was shocked, ‘oh good lord, who has given my details out now?’ she asked herself internally. Vernon would be extremely displeased to find out that their details had been sold on yet  _again_.

Marlene took the silence and shrewd, suspicious eyes as confirmation, “is your husband not home? I suppose it is a bit early,” she trailed off, mentally clutching at straws for a way to entice Petunia into a conversation. “What about Dudley? He must be, oh, thirteen now?”

Petunia’s eyes narrowed and sniffed in distaste, this chugger was very personal; why hadn’t number two warned her? Was this about the size of their rhododendron again? “My son,” she replied in what she believed to be her most stately of voices but instead sounded rather haughty, “is at school. At Smeltings Academy, it’s very prestigious.”

This was not going the way that Marlene had intended, didn’t Petunia realise she was being  _polite_  not prying? She was trying to make a friendly lead into a conversation she was sure neither would enjoy. “Oh, oh course,” she replied, seeing the expectant look on Petunia’s face, the woman must’ve assumed Marlene was impressed by her son’s education and became visibly less suspicious.

They stood there awkwardly for another moment or two, Petunia’s eyes gradually narrowing again as she realised that Marlene was in no hurry to begin her sales pitch and Marlene being unsure of where to start. “This may seem strange,” she broached tentatively; “but, do you know where Lily Potter lives?”

Marlene knew that her welcome was up as soon as she said Lily’s name.

“Lily Potter,” spat Petunia with clear venom and spittle flying with the hard ‘t’s, “is dead. Good day.” The door was shut in Marlene’s face before she could protest or process the words Petunia had spoken. Fleetingly she acknowledged that at least she’d got more door time out of the woman than Lily had so many years before.

Petunia Dursley slammed the door shut in the blonde woman’s face with no hesitation. She bolted the door with shaking hands, locked it to be safe and, once she was sure that that… _witch_ couldn’t access her home, she sunk to the floor. Tears streamed from her eyes uninvited and she shoved a perfectly manicured fist into her mouth, biting down hard on it to try and stop the sobs she couldn’t hold back. The bristles of the welcome mat dug painfully into her knees as she knelt on the floor, propping herself upon the door frame, desperate for the horror of the moment to pass.

Lily, _bloody_ Lily; all day she’d endeavoured to forget her sister, all bloody day.

The Dursley family didn’t talk about Halloween, Dudley had never shown much interest in his developing years (providing they gave him enough sweets to distract him) and, now he was at Smeltings, they had never had to worry about any desire to ‘trick or treat’ as the chorus of grubby children called out eagerly annually on the horrid day.

Usually Vernon would take her out to dinner on this dratted day. They’d go into the city, to London, to watch a show perhaps or have an expensive meal, anything at all, just to distract from the reality of it all. Neither Petunia nor Vernon wanted to accept or face the knowledge that this was the day that her sister had died and it was all the fault of _magic_.

On the one bloody day of the year where the whole bloody country goes up in arms about magic and _witches_ and wizardry and bloody _spells_ Lily had to go and get herself bloody killed. The irony of it was almost laughable and she couldn’t help it when a shrill and nervous titter escaped her mouth unwillingly.

It was typical Lily, and Potter, to have chosen such a symbolic day to go. Attention seeking was what Vernon called it; Petunia (when she’d had one too many gin and tonics) would describe it as inevitable, she’d known, even at the tender age of twelve, that she would lose her little sister to this abomination. And then came Harry, and she couldn’t help it, but she hated him.

Harry, just a baby yet so like her brother-in-law but her sister’s eyes stared out of his face at her, mocking her. This was the product of magic, this was what happened when you played with things you couldn’t control. You got an orphan, an orphan you didn’t want, with an ugly unexplainable scar and an inevitable tendency to be the exact by-product of his parents.

Though Vernon cursed and swore, she had been glad when Harry had pissed off to Hogwarts, so he could get himself killed too. And so far, every year (without fail) a letter had shown up saying he’d nearly gone and done it. Mountain trolls, barmy teachers, giant chess sets, three headed dogs, a massive snake and the dark lord returned (twice!) – it was typical of her sister’s son to invite so much trouble.

And now she’d have to tell him, tell her husband that another Halloween had come by and with it another bloody witch. More _bloody_ magic, she laughed desperately, unable to control the hysterics trying to take her over. Another one had shown up on another Halloween and asked about her _god_ _damned_ sister – as if they’d ever shake the pain she’d thrust upon them.

She looked to the clock, it was nearly six and Vernon would be home soon, expecting her ready for a trip to the theatre. She hauled herself up, using the door handle as leverage. A peek through the window at the top of the door showed Mrs Figg wandering by, hobbling really, but nobody else was on the street – hopefully nobody had seen her. Petunia wandered through to the kitchen, pulled the bottle of gin from out behind the sink and took a healthy mouthful or two. There was a dress waiting for her upstairs that needed to be put on, her hair would need to be fixed and god knew what the state of her face was like. She resolutely banished all thoughts of her sister (admittedly with another mouthful of gin) and made her way upstairs to set about readying herself for her husband, he didn’t like her distressed after all.

\--

The lights were bright and the noises loud the day that Marlene McKinnon finally woke up in her hospital bed. Though she didn’t know it at the time, she’d been showing signs of waking for days and, in a move to free up ICU bed space, she had been swiftly moved to a recovery ward. She awoke on the 9th November; it was a Monday of no consequence, even in the magical world. Harry Potter had been delivered a few days before to his unwelcoming Aunt and Uncle, Sirius Black had been captured and framed for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and Muggle England (though still shaken from the explosion that had killed twelve) carried on unaware of the significance of any of it.

This perhaps was one of the reasons that Marlene McKinnon was able to, so easily, vanish from the Wizarding community, how her death was hardly noticed. Her family had died two weeks before her disappearance and people assumed she’d gone with them, Death Eater killings were, at the time, surrounded with so much mystery that it was hard to know the facts of any bereavement and so it was quite easy to fabricate one, the bravado that Peter Pettigrew chose wasn’t  _quite_  necessary in every instance.

The nurses were originally attentive to the lost young girl, who’d come in nameless and close to death. Hypothermia had settled in, although it wasn’t as extreme as they’d originally thought and, for the life of them, they couldn’t seem to wake her up. It’d been a mystery of sorts and the talk of the canteen. Doctors from all over the country (and even those visiting London from further afield) would visit to see if they knew what had settled in the woman who, despite the hypothermia, seemed perfectly well if only she’d wake up.

Ten days after her arrival, she did wake up and, as the most cynical and seasoned of nurses had predicted, it was extremely anticlimactic.

For the first 12 hours there was a flurry of confusion as Doctors, consultants, nurses and surgeons all weighed in their opinions as to Marlene’s memory loss. She knew her name (which a kindly nurse assured her was a positive sign) and she knew of her childhood years in Egham. A little investigative research (commonly known as checking the Daily Mail of three weeks ago) revealed that her family had died in a suspicious house fire and though with that the plot thickened (as it were) it also produced a dead end and the interested parties soon moved on leaving her clutching at straws.

As interest in Marlene ebbed she found herself more and more distracted by the horrifying reality of her situation: she couldn’t, no matter how much she tried, remember the past eleven years of her life; her family were dead (the cause of which was still flummoxing police officers) and she had no idea of what she was going to do about any of it.  

\--

Orange; if you’d asked Sirius Black what he’d thought of the Halloween feast during his first year he would have told you, without pause, that it was very, very orange. It was a tamer Halloween than he was used to, in the Black household the holiday was celebrated but often with malicious undertones; his father, leaning out the top window, would watch Muggles ‘trick or treat’ and hex the unaware for the amusement of his mother and brother. They would still feast, and it was a much grander feast than Hogwarts offered, but with the sickeningly lavish food came aunties, uncles, cousins and pure-blooded mania that, even at such a young age, didn’t sit particularly well with the eldest Black boy.

His first Halloween at Hogwarts had a softness to it that made him uncomfortable, there were no cruel hexes (well, none other than the tripping jinx Peter had thrown at Snivellus after breakfast but that didn’t _count_ )and even the food was kinder, somehow easier to digest, rather than sickeningly creamy and heavy dishes that cloyed in his throat. This was, he realised as he looked at James’ entirely comfortable expression, the Halloween he should have grown up with.

Still, it all was very, _very_ orange.

Candles, more candles than you could shake a stick at, Sirius hadn’t a clue where they’d found them all and a choice suggestion of them perhaps being removed from a certain head of Gryffindor’s arse had only earned him a glare from Lily Evans; and the pumpkins, who would ever want so many pumpkins?! They were going to be living off pumpkin soup and pumpkin juice for November, he was sure of it. The combination of the pumpkins and the candles made everything glow, even the ghosts who flitted around performing their own deaths with unbridled glee. And everything glowed so bloody orange.

It wasn’t just him who’d thought it, James had made a comment to Lily (clearly hoping to impress her) that drew upon the similarities of her hair colour fitting with the theme of the room – it hadn’t had the effect he’d wanted in hindsight. Remus, already despairing of his roommates, (despite desperately wanting to fit in) had rolled his eyes and muttered an apology to Lily while Marlene had nudged the girl with her elbow, trying to make her giggle so she could let loose her own.

Sirius would always remember it as his most innocent Halloween, though Prongs and Moony would argue that he was never an innocent in his life. There was no gallivanting about the forest in the form of a dog, no spiking the pumpkin juice with firewhiskey, no plotting with Peeves and certainly no fumbling in broom closets.

At the age of eleven Sirius thought that his first Halloween at Hogwarts made up for every single horrible Halloween he’d ever experienced at home, but then, Sirius Black didn’t have a particularly good track record with Halloween.

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing in the Harry Potter universe. JK Rowling I most certainly am not.   
> A.N. This could definitely be referred to as Halloween part 1 if you were that way inclined. Just to settle any confusion, in the previous chapter when Sirius was reading the paper from the 30th it was, as I stated, yesterday’s paper read on the morning of the 31st – sorry if that needed clearing up.


	6. Chapter 6

Arabella Figg’s eyesight was shot, it was the only explanation. Strange things had been happening the past few months, of that there was no denying, but to see a witch twelve years dead in conversation with Petunia Dursley (the most intolerant person Arabella had ever had the misfortune to meet)?  Her eyesight was buggered and she’d accept no other explanation.

Unless, of course, that really was Marlene McKinnon walking down Privet Drive, casual as you like.

The magical world had, of late, gotten a bit too crazy for even Arabella to handle. The escape of Sirius Black had shaken everyone. A Death Eater out and about wasn’t anything new, of course, but such a high profile one? It was hard to see it as anything other than a rallying call. She couldn’t help but think that she had grown complacent watching Harry grow up. He’d had such a disturbance free (for she couldn’t use the word ‘peaceful’) childhood during the ceasefire but Mrs Figg had a feeling in her gut and she knew, without really knowing, that the peace would be over soon.

Dumbledore would, without a doubt, have to be told; Dumbledore was probably the only person Arabella could go to with this kind of news, “oh, yes, today I saw a dead member of the Order wandering around Little Whinging”. She could imagine Dedalus Diggle’s reaction: the fool would laugh so hard his silly little hat would come toppling off in his mirth.

It was in this moment though, when she was watching Marlene wander away (her confusion obvious), that Arabella hated her squib status the most. She couldn’t approach Marlene directly, Merlin knows what she’d say, but if she could only cast a tracking spell… oh, life would have been so much simpler.

In a wave of inspiration Arabella lowered her head as Marlene walked towards her up the street, making a point of doddering like the ‘old biddy’ the local kids made her out to be, she wobbled across the pavement, her shopping trolley swerving behind her. As the two were about to pass (Marlene she noted was almost entirely consumed by her own thoughts) Mrs Figg made a point of losing her balance and falling into the younger witch.

Marlene grabbed her arm to steady her, pulled out of her reverie and suddenly concerned for the older woman who’d fallen into her. “Oh, dear, are you okay?” she asked and Arabella had to stop herself from smiling slyly, squib she may be but she was resourceful too.

“Oh, I am so sorry, love,” Mrs Figg told her in her most apologetic voice. “These things aren’t ‘alf a pain to drag around, what with my hip,” she tried to be covert in her hint and, whether Marlene had noticed it or not, she picked up on it immediately.

“Would you like me to help you?” she asked without hesitation, although the surreptitious look towards number four didn’t go unnoticed.

Arabella sighed appreciatively, “that, would be an appreciated kindness, my dear.” She handed Marlene the pull-along trolley and began a much more confident march down the street towards her own house, “come along, there’s a piece of walnut cake in it for you!” she called back to the younger woman who couldn’t help but notice the spritely change.

Before Marlene knew it Mrs Figg had her sat down in the armchair by the fire, a teacup and saucer balanced on one knee, a plate of walnut cake in her hand and a photo album across her lap. She didn’t know how it’d happened, one moment the elderly lady was falling into her path and now she was running around fetching cake and cats and talking constantly. She felt that, in that moment, she knew exactly how Hansel and Gretel had felt having been lured into the witch’s gingerbread house, unable to escape; the irony of the comparison wouldn’t be realised by Marlene till much later.

“Have you got to the Smudge section?” she heard her cry out from the kitchen and Marlene couldn’t help but cringe, she was very far off from the Smudge section.

Mrs Figg ducked her head around the door to see the younger woman completely overcome by the tea, cake and photographs that had been thrust upon her as soon as she’d crossed the threshold; good, she thought, that’ll keep her busy for a moment or two. She threw Floo Powder into the small grate in the kitchen, she’d had it installed eleven years before for the very purpose of contacting Dumbledore in case anything happened to Harry and, in fact, his was the only fireplace it was connected to.

“Dumbledore! Dumbledore!” she cried as loud as she could without being heard in the other room, she was well practiced at this though and went unnoticed by the other girl.

“Arabella,” he soon replied with a warm smile across his face. “Always a pleasure, what news from Privet Drive, friend?”

“Marlene McKinnon has shown up on Privet Drive, Albus, visiting Petunia Dursley,” she told him, cutting immediately to the chase.

She watched with satisfaction as his face grew grave immediately but his answer was one she hadn’t expected, “already?” he demanded. “So soon? Well, I suppose Sirius being so prevalent across the news would stir the cauldron…”

“Albus, are you saying you knew she was alive?” she asked, never one to mince words but her disbelief was clear, Marlene and Arabella hadn’t been particularly close within the social group of the Order but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been fond of the girl.

Professor Dumbledore noted her dismay immediately, “it was a necessary precaution, Arabella. One that backfired, I admit; Sirius took charge of the logistics, I just performed the spellwork. He wanted her safe, I provided the means, and we weren’t to know that it would all fall to pieces before he could fulfil his side of the bargain.”

“She hasn’t a clue what she _is_ , Dumbledore!”

“On the contrary, my dear! She clearly has some inkling if she’s shown up to find Lily Potter through her sister!”

“So I can explain it?” she asked hopefully.

“No, no I don’t think it’s the right time for that yet, we should wait until Sirius Black is detained once more-“

“You want to deny her life, her birth right for the sake of timing?”

He looked sympathetic, his eyes a little _too_ sympathetic for Arabella’s taste, “I understand, Arabella. To see someone denied what you can’t attain for a frivolous reason…”

“That’s not fair, Dumbledore.”

“No, it’s not, but very few things that have happened these past years have been. Make sure you find out where she’s living, a few things about her life, make sure she’s safe. I’ll make protective spells for her my highest priority, but we must keep her secret for a while longer.”

“Her return could be just the thing to capture Black-“

“We have wronged her enough, let’s not add to that by using her as a pawn to capture her ex-boyfriend, Arabella.”

Mrs Figg huffed in disapproval but couldn’t argue with the logic, though she wanted to desperately. “Fine, Albus. We’ll do it your way, of course.” She shook her head lightly in despair and watched as, with a smile and a nod the wizened headmaster removed himself from the fire place cutting off their connection. Without her permission a tear slid from her eye and she hastily wiped it away, he was right of course, to see someone denied magic when she couldn’t cast a simple spell… It smarted more than she’d ever happily admit. “Now, Marlene,” she called out, deciding to return to her guest and the task at hand before she could dwell too much. “How are you enjoying that cake?”

\--

While Marlene ate the dry cake of Arabella Figg, closer to the magical world than she could know and yet unable to reach it in her ignorance, Sirius Black was sat in the Shrieking Shack eating the remains of a rat he’d caught in the dining room. It was far too early to head up to the school, though the anticipation of confronting Peter was almost painful, and he was left to dwell on Halloweens gone past that he’d much rather forget; specifically, the one that changed it all.

The whispers that day had spread like fiendfyre; from fireplace to fireplace, owl to owl, witch to wizard – all had known by the evening that Lily and James Potter had died in defiance of the Dark Lord and that their son, the already renowned Harry, had survived – the first to survive.

He couldn’t remember who’d told him, something he on reflection found unfathomable, how do you forget the face that tells you that your best friend, your comrade, your brother has died?

What he could remember, what he would always remember, was the instantaneous realisation of Peter. He never thought of Remus in that moment, how his poor friend would lose four of his nearest and dearest that day; no, all he knew from that moment on was Peter, guilt and revenge.

Peter had betrayed them but it was he who’d recommended Peter in the first place, this was his fault. In defence of his actions, though many would argue he had no defence at all, he did go straight to Harry. Though Peter was Secret Keeper, Sirius had been in on the location too, Prongs couldn’t go a day without talking to Padfoot so it was unsurprising really. When he showed up at Godric’s Hollow his grief nearly overwhelmed him entirely, and perhaps it would have been better if he’d allowed it to. Sirius though was a Black by name and a Black by nature and, after ensuring Harry (sweet Harry who had hardly cried at all once his Godfather had cradled him in his arms) was safe with Hagrid, he’d gone to find Peter with the full intent of living up to the Noble House of Black for the first time in his miserable life.

He’d found him, but the _rat_ was far more intelligent than the Marauders had given him credit for and was quick to lead Sirius to an open street full of Muggles that he barely noticed in his rage. “You killed them! You fucking killed them, Peter!” was all he could cry at the pudgy young man he’d so lovingly called friend.

“No Sirius,” Peter had yelled back at him, careful to ensure that there were witnesses to the madness of the man’s grief. “You killed them! It was all you! James, Lily, poor Harry? How could you do such a thing! Betraying them to Voldemort? I had never thought you so callous,” he spat back at his friend.

Peter had made a conscious effort to cry, although it hadn’t taken that much. There was, though Sirius and later Remus would never believe it, a supreme amount of guilt swirling through the turmoil of his mind. He hated himself for what he’d done, even more so in the face of Sirius’ anguish, but he’d been persuaded long ago that the Dark Lord was going to win this battle and it was in the nature of a rat to survive – a trait of his animagus they’d never associated with him before.

Sirius snarled and Peter noted wryly to himself that he wasn’t the only one following the nature of his animagus, that was the last thought he had before the killing curse was thrown at him and he, using quick thinking and a level of initiative that under any other circumstance James and Sirius would have been proud of, hacked off his finger and transformed so quickly that even Sirius (who was notoriously quick to the draw) couldn’t respond appropriately.

When the Aurors (who he and James had discovered only showed up with haste when you didn’t want them around) arrived he knew it was all over and he went, not willingly, but with a resigned acceptance of his fate. The full extent of his grief kicked in then and, as he was repeatedly accused of killing his best friends and the traitor, he accepted his unfair trial with little protestation for he believed that, though he didn’t have Peter’s blood on his hands, the blood of the Potters he loved so dearly would never wash clean.

Twelve years later and he looked to the mantel once more, the clock showed it was seven o’clock in the evening and he deemed it time to venture up to the castle. The school would be settled into the Halloween feast and he had enough of his wits about him to realise that he didn’t want to involve the children in his revenge – not for the sake of witnesses though but for their safety and the safety of Harry.

He was still without a wand as he made his way through the tunnel below the Willow but it didn’t bother him, in Azkaban he’d had rich and vivid fantasies in which he killed Peter mercilessly and messily with his bare hands, ripping at hair, skin and muscle with desperation. The front doors were unlocked, something he found laughable – didn’t they know a crazed murderer was on the loose? And the path to Gryffindor tower was empty and familiar. He didn’t even need to be subtle for all the portraits had gone down to the hall to witness the festivities – nobody would announce his arrival to the headmaster until it was far too late for Peter.

Walking up the staircases, casually moving through hidden passageways and behind tapestries, Sirius almost lost himself in the memories of the place. He’d hidden from Filch with James here, hexed a fifth year giving Marlene grief over there and he’d kissed her in most hidden nooks and crannies in the castle; the pair had dedicated much of their seventh year to christening every imaginative spot they could, it was a wonder they’d left with any NEWTs between them.

It was too soon when he arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady, who snoozed with her friend Violet, wine bottles characteristically surrounded them. She’d been a lush back in his day too, not that they’d discouraged her, in fact they’d often shamelessly tell her of new wine filled portraits to get in her good books.

He sniffed and cleared his throat, almost self-conscious as he realised he had no idea how he was going to go about this. He’d somehow forgotten about passing the guardian of the tower in one of his moments of lunacy. She awoke with a start that would have been amusing if she hadn’t started screaming, it was almost reassuring to his vanity though, clearly he hadn’t aged so badly in the past years if he was still recognisable as the young man she’d known.

“Sirius Black!” she screamed, quite annoyingly. Of course he was Sirius Black. It awoke Violet though who, after falling off her stool quite comically, joined in the screaming to produce a high-pitched cadence that pierced the silence.

“Let me into the tower,” he told her, trying his hardest to sound sane and frank.

“Never!” she roared haughtily. “You don’t have the password, for one thing, and you are a murderer and a thief and I shall not allow you to trespass in these corridors any longer!”

It took Sirius quite a bit of effort to refrain from arguing the ‘thief’ accusation, to his knowledge he certainly hadn’t been accused of thieving. Murder, yes, but no thieving. “Let me in!” he roared at her, taking her by the frame and shaking her sharply.

This was the wrong thing to do for Violet ran (screaming all the way) and the Fat Lady became even more determined to bar his entry. He realised he was fucked quite quickly and, in a moment of unbridled rage, tore at the portrait like he had so wanted to tear at Peter. Her screams were loud though and he knew Violet could be swift if she wished so he hastily made his way from the hallway, transforming after a distance to make his scruffy-self less noticeable as he bounded across the lawn in the direction of the Willow he’d taken residence in. 

The entire evening had been a waste, he realised as he flung himself down on the awful bed. He hadn’t caught Peter, hadn’t killed the wretch, and he’d alerted all of Wizarding Britain to the general location of his hiding spot. If anyone had had any doubt that he was heading to Hogwarts then the opportunity of surprise was long out of the window – before he fell asleep he realised that meant Peter would know he was close too, but the exertion of the day had been too much for him and he was asleep before he could dwell on it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t intend to start this, it just wouldn’t get out of my head. It started as a one shot but I knew I wouldn’t fulfil the story in my head if I contained it to a few thousand words, I’m aiming to keep it under ten chapters, I don’t want this to be an epic. I just had this story in my head and I wanted to tell it. Feedback is always appreciated; if I’m being too English with my phrases let me know, I keep thinking I need to put in a glossary.


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